The High School Pitcher Part 26

Dave wanted to be abed by half past eight that evening, as Coach Luce had requested; but about a quarter past eight, just as he was about to retire, his mother discovered that she needed coffee for the next morning's breakfast, so she sent him to the grocer's on the errand. d.i.c.k, while eating supper, thought of an item that he wanted to print in the next day's "Blade." Accordingly, he hurried to the newspaper office as soon as the meal was over.

It was ten minutes past eight when d.i.c.k handed in his copy to the night editor.

"Time enough," muttered the boy, as he reached the street. "A brisk jog homeward is just the thing before pulling off clothes and dropping in between the sheets."

As d.i.c.k jogged along he remembered having noticed, on the way to the office, Tip Scammon in a new suit of clothes.

"Tip's stock is coming up in the world," thought young Prescott.

"But I wonder whether Tip earned that suit or stole it, or whether he has just succeeded in threatening more money out of Ripley.

How foolish Fred is to stand for blackmail! I wonder if I ought to speak to him about it, or give his father a hint. I hate to be meddlesome. And, by ginger! Now I think of it, Tip looked rather curiously at me. He---oh!---_murder_!"

The last exclamation was wrung from d.i.c.k Prescott by a most amazing happening.

He was pa.s.sing a building in the course of erection. It stood flush with the sidewalk, and the contractor had laid down a board walk over the sidewalk, and had covered it with a roofed staging.

Just as d.i.c.k pa.s.sed under this, still on a lope, a long pole was thrust quickly out from the blackness inside the building. Between d.i.c.k's moving legs went the pole.

b.u.mp! Down came d.i.c.k, on both hands and one knee. Then he rolled over sideways.

Away back in the building the young pitcher heard fast-moving feet.

In a flash d.i.c.k tried to get up. It took him more time than he had expected. He clutched at one of the upright beams for support.

Half a dozen people had seen the fall. Stopping curiously, they soon turned, hurrying toward Prescott.

Forgotten, in an instant, was the youngster's pain. His face went white with another throbbing realization.

"The game to-morrow! This knee puts me out!"

CHAPTER XVI

THE HOUR OF TORMENTING DOUBT

"Oh, no! That mustn't be. I've got to pitch in to-morrow's game!"

Prescott ground out the words between his clenched teeth. The consciousness of pain was again a.s.serting itself.

"What's the matter, Prescott?" called the first pa.s.ser-by to reach him.

"Matter enough," grumbled d.i.c.k, pointing to the pole that lay near him. "See that thing?"

"Yes. Trip over it?"

"I did. But some one thrust it between my legs as I was running past here."

"Sho!" exclaimed another, curiously. "Now, who would want to do that?"

"Anyone who didn't want me to pitch to-morrow's game, perhaps,"

flashed d.i.c.k, with sudden divination.

"What's this?" demanded a boy, breaking in through the small crowd that was collecting. "d.i.c.k---you hurt?"

It didn't take Dave many seconds to understand the situation.

"I'll bet I know who did it!" he muttered, vengefully.

"Who?" spoke up one of the men.

But d.i.c.k gave a warning nudge. "Oh, well!" muttered Dave Darrin.

"We'll settle this thing all in our own good time."

"Let me have your arm, Dave," begged young Prescott. "I want to see how well I can walk."

The young pitcher had already been experimenting, cautiously, to see how much weight he could bear on his injured left leg.

"Take my arm on the other side," volunteered a sympathetic man in the crowd.

d.i.c.k was about to do so, when the lights of an auto showed as the machine came close to the curb.

"Here's a doctor," called some one.

"Which one?" asked d.i.c.k.

"Bentley."

"Good!" muttered Dave. "Dr. Bentley is medical examiner to the High School athletic teams. Ask Dr. Bentley if he won't come in here. Stand still, d.i.c.k, and put all the weight you can on your sound leg."

Prescott was already doing this.

Dr. Bentley, a strong looking man of about fifty, rather short though broad-shouldered, took a quick survey of the situation.

"One of you men help me put Prescott in the tonneau of my car,"

he directed, "and come along with me to Prescott's home. The lad must not step on that leg until it has been looked at."

d.i.c.k found himself being lifted and placed in a comfortable seat in the after part of the auto. Dave and the man who had helped the physician got in with him.

Barely a minute later Dr. Bentley stopped his car before the Prescott book store.

"You stay in the car a minute," directed the physician. "I want to speak to your mother, so she won't be scared to death."

Mrs. Prescott, from whom d.i.c.k had inherited much of his own pluck, was not the kind of woman to faint. She quickly followed Dr.

Bentley from the store.

"I'm hurt only in my feelings, mother," said d.i.c.k cheerfully.

"I'm afraid I have a little wrench that will keep me out of the game tomorrow."